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Again, She swore she’d never return Toxic fumes of bitterness Burned her nostrils Every gut-twisting sob Resounded Left unabated She waded thru the mire Sorrow and suffering Glued to her feet Like black tar Why had she come To this birthplace of despair Unholy and unnerving She found no relief No quench of thirst In this wasteland Of regret and remorse She walked with shades Thru the cobwebbed corridors Listened to the reverberating wails Echoes of those who came before Of those who were to follow Maybe one day She would hear the call And not come Again, Maybe not By Michele Benefiel Michelle - At the first reading, in class, I was blown away by your portrayal of this repeated suffering with every visit, every day. I felt the weight of your grief and pain. A pain that tears have not yet transformed into something barely tollerable instead of completely intollerable. Your poem now sings, like a lyric for a song of sorrow, through repetition of phrases and subtle changes in the verses. The repetition also speaks loudly to the ongoing nature of such grief and and loss. Your lyrics have voiced some of my grief issues with my father. I am forever grateful and moved toward healing. I really enjoyed reading this poem. I agree with the above comments. . . Your word choice and repetition really magnify the feeling of grief. Thank you for sharing. . . I think we can all relate on some level. Brett Lynn SaveCancel help on how to format text **“In Search of….” **   **by Monica Swift **  “There’s a lid for every pot, even the cracked pots,” Grandma said. I remember asking, “But how will //I// know when I have found my lid?” The best advice I ever received came in the form of her answer. I was 21 years old and drowning in a sea of bad dates. I had just stopped in to bring Grandma her prescription when Grandpa asked the dreaded question. “Do you ever plan to marry?” It was not a wholly unexpected question, months earlier Grandma had told me that when I announced my intent to teach, Grandpa had declared I would become an old maid. I was beginning to fear that he was right, because I had yet to succeed in accurately reading men. This is why I turned to Grandma, married for over 60 years, she had wisdom in this area. “But how will //I// know when I have found my lid?” “He will want to be around you,” she said. I remember thinking “//that’s// an answer?” Still I sagely let her keep talking. “Oh you’ll know. The interested ones will make up excuses to talk with you, to hang around you, just watch for it.” Then she added, “Oh and don’t rule out the quiet ones either.” Since Grandpa was practically a mute old farm boy, I took her at her word on that, too. Heeding her advice was a challenge. I wanted the ones //I// wanted and found myself hanging around those men almost willing them to show interest; however, by graduate school I was getting better at detecting men who were attracted to me. In fact, by paying better attention to those around me I met an “Almost Mr. Right” during my second year of graduate school. Happily I found that I did not always have to listen to his stories, because he wanted to know about me! To this day I am still single, but by using Grandma’s advice and only dating the men who like me (and not the other way around), I have had fewer heartbreaks and sweeter memories. Rachel: ||  ||   || About · Blog · [|Pricing] · Privacy · Terms · [|**Support**] · **Upgrade** Contributions to http://sckwp.wikispaces.com are licensed under a [|Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike 2.5 License]. Portions not contributed by visitors are Copyright 2011 Tangient LLC
 * “Again”
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.Brett Lynn